Hell
by TheEndOfEverythingYouKnow
Summary: In which all Armin wishes for is death. A place to store some terrible drabbles that may or may not connect. Read at your own risk. Rated M for rape and suicidal thoughts. Credit for the cover image goes to JulietW42 on Pinterest.
1. Hell

**Don't read this. Just don't. It's horrible, I wrote it when I was depressed, and I have no idea why I'm even putting it on here. I seriously doubt I should, can, or will ever add to it. So this is me, apologizing in advance, to Hajime Isayama, to whoever is depraved enough to read this, and especially to Armin, who is a wonderful ray of sunshine even when he's psychologically torturing people and seriously does not ever deserve to be treated this horribly. So, if you're still determined to read this shit, know that I told you not to, just as I told myself not to even fucking write it. Oh, and disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Armin Arlert wished for death.

He knew it was a selfish thing to long for, after so many had died, and so many for him, but he couldn't help it. He thought he had known, after everything he had been through, just how horrible this world could be. He thought he could defeat the evil, outlive it long enough to see the beauty, the good. To see the oceans, the deserts, the forests- to share them with the one he was closest to on this cruel planet.

Now… Now, he just longed for an end.

For his tormentor to kill him, or else to take his own blades and slice open his own pale skin. For his blood to run one last time, but by his own will. To draw sharpened metal too deeply through his slim wrists, to drive the blade through his stomach-or, better yet, through his heart. To take the only modicum of control left to him and take the one small victory he could over his captor.

But, then, what of Eren? What of the others? Would the pain end with him, or would the monster simply move onto another unsuspecting victim? He wished he could bring slow and horrible death upon his torturer as well, but he knew he was too weak. He was trapped.

And this hell had taken all his strength.

Death would be preferable to this hell.

Hell...

The Commander, huffing hot breaths into his ear.

Hell.

The Commander, fingers twisted in Armin's golden hair, pulling his head back so he could lick the tears of anguish spilling from eyes screwed shut by pain and fear and sorrow.

Hell.

The Commander's desk, cool and hard as he was slammed into it again and again.

Hell.

The Commander's harsh grip, groping him, hitting him, forcing his legs apart and his face to the desk when the Commander was tired of hearing him sob and plead.

Hell.

The Commander's body against his own, the way the uniform's fabric rubbed against his bare skin, his own clothes ripped and cast to the floor.

Hell.

The Commander's voice, laughing harshly, promising to make him watch Eren die if he didn't keep his mouth shut, if he didn't comply.

Hell.

The burning, searing pain between his legs that worsened with the Commander's every rough movement. The smell of blood and sweat and agony.

Hell.

Commander.

Hell.

Torture.

Hell.

Screams.

Hell.

Blood.

Hell.

Darkness.


	2. Warm

Warm.

Eren was always warm. Armin wished he could hold on to that warmth, bury his face in it and forget the cold and the pain, even if only for a moment. If he could just… just for a moment...

Armin watches him now. As often as he can. Never letting himself get close enough for Eren to notice, but near enough to assure himself that Eren's okay.

That Eren's alive.

Armin wishes he could be alive with him.

The fiery boy didn't seem to notice Armin's sudden withdrawal. How one day the bright little blond boy lost all of his light. He stopped talking. Stopped eating. Stopped letting people get close. He walked shakily, painfully, with a lost look in dulled blue eyes. Eren didn't notice.

Eren didn't hear his screams.

Eren didn't see him breaking.

It was dinnertime. Armin had been called to the Commander's office early that morning and hadn't been seen all day. It wasn't an unusual occurrence. The others had proceeded with training as usual.

Armin entered the mess hall alone. He moved slowly, shrinking in on himself in an attempt to be invisible. He crept through the line and quietly, hesitantly, took a seat beside Eren. He stared longingly at his dearest friend. Eren didn't even turn from his food.

Armin felt something cracking inside him. He silently begged for Eren to look at him, to just say one word to let him know everything wasn't ruined yet. Armin might as well have sat in an empty room.

He told himself Eren must just be tired. He must have trained hard all day with the others, while Armin was…

Eren must just be tired.

Armin was tired, too.

He let his eyes close and his head slowly fell to the side, against Eren's shoulder. It would be all right, wouldn't it, to lean on him a little? To touch him, just for a moment? To allow himself just an ounce of that warmth, and maybe he wouldn't feel so cold anymore.

Surprised at the sudden contact, Eren jolted. Armin pulled back so quickly, he almost fell out of his seat.

"Armin?" Eren was confused.

"I'm sorry," Armin murmured, face hidden behind his hair. He should have known better. Dirty little boys aren't allowed to be warm. They should keep their filthy bodies to themselves and not bother others with their uselessness. Of course Eren wouldn't want contact with him. No one would. How many times did he have to learn?

Barely choking back his tears, Armin turned and staggered away, dropping his untouched plate in front of Sasha as he left, ignoring Eren's calls and the others' stares as he limped hurriedly away.

Not watching where he was going, Armin collided with something solid.

Firm hands grabbed his shoulders, steadying him. Armin looked up.

The Commander was touching him. Levi was beside him.

Panicked, Armin wrenched himself from the Commander's grasp and ran the other way.

No one stopped him.

All alone in the farthest corner of the library, Armin sobbed.

He could still feel the Commander's hands.

The shred of Eren's warmth was gone.

* * *

(Wrote this months ago on a bad day. I thought it might fit here.)


	3. It hurts

It hurts.

It hurts more and more each day.

Bruises fade, and new ones replace them.

The others have started to notice something is wrong. You can feel the eyes following you, the whispers behind your back. They notice you don't sleep, you don't eat, you don't smile anymore.

Sometimes they ask, and you long so terribly to _tell._

Hands gripping, hurting, breaking. Pulling hair and bruising hips.

You want someone to know.

To care.

But who would believe you?

You're no one. Nothing.

He's their leader, their knight in shining armor.

They don't see what you see.

They won't feel your pain.

Or - worse- what if they say you wanted it? You asked for it. You should be grateful for the attention.

Grateful for the nightmares and the blood.

Either way, he'd know you told.

And then your best friend would be dead.

And it would be

All

Your

Fault.


	4. Jean knows

Jean knows.

He _knows_ something is wrong with Armin, and he cannot possibly be the only one.

Eren and Mikasa have known him for far longer. Surely they've noticed something's changed. Surely they've noticed that their friend hasn't been eating or sleeping, jumping at the barest noises or movements.

They aren't blind, and he's not crazy.

They all saw it, that night Armin came to dinner late and fled without eating anything. He was obviously freaking out about something, on the verge of tears, and none of them knew why. They all watched him run.

Watched and did nothing. Again.

Jean whirls on Eren. "What the hell was that?"

The titan shifter trades his expression of shock for defensive anger. "How should I know?"

"He's your friend!"

"He's not usually like this!"

"Enough." Mikasa grabs Eren's arm and drags him away.

Jean manages to corner Armin a couple days later.

"What's going on with you?" he asks, blocking the smaller recruit's path.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Armin shrinks in on himself, refusing to meet Jean's eyes. Has he always looked this fragile?

"Don't lie to me. Come on, I know you aren't eating or sleeping. You disappear for hours at a time. You're even pushing Eren away."

"It's nothing, Jean. I'm fine." But there are shadows under his eyes and he somehow looks even thinner than he was before they came here.

He looks anything but fine.

"It's not nothing!" And, dammit, Armin flinches at that. "I'm sorry, Armin. I'm just worried about you."

"Well, don't be. It's-just stay-there's nothing." Armin pushes past him, and Jean doesn't miss the fact that he's shaking. He's barely holding back tears.

Jean sighs, slumping against the wall and sliding to the floor. He remembers how Armin used to be.

Bright.

Hopeful.

Always trailing after Eren and Mikasa.

Now, he's slowly wasting away before their eyes.

Jean's stomach jolts at the realization that Armin had been Marco's friend, too. The two of them, they'd shone in this dark, twisted world.

Why couldn't Jean appreciate that before it was gone?

It's not fair. It's never fair, but that doesn't mean he has to sit by and take it. He joined the Scouts for a reason, and he's not going to just stand there when one of his friends is clearly in pain. No fucking way.

So Jean pushes himself up, wiping the frustration from his eyes and stalking off to find the one bastard in this place stubborn enough to help him figure this out.

It takes a while to find Eren, cleaning the stables for some reason. He glances up at Jean, surprised and distrustful.

"What do you want, horse face? Didn't yell at me enough earlier?"

"I'm not here to fight."

Eren halts at his tone, setting his bucket aside. Jean takes a breath.

"Something's wrong with Armin, and you need to help me find out what it is."


	5. In the Commander's Room

The Commander tossed Armin's weak form onto the bed. The broken, battered boy let out a pained whimper and tried to crawl away, dragging his naked body to the other side of the bed. The Commander caught hold of his ankle and dragged him back.

No.

No.

No.

Not again.

He can't do that again, not when Armin's still bleeding from the last time.

As the Commander unfastened his belts, Armin lost it. He struggled with what little strength he had left, pushing at the Commander's chest and letting out strangled half-sobs, half screams. He called for someone, anyone, to make it stop. The Commander slapped him.

Nobody came.

The Commander thrust a finger into Armin's abused hole. He laughed at the shrieks of pure agony that came from the writhing boy beneath him. He leaned in close, smothering Armin's mouth with his own while continuing to shove his fingers into his victim.

One.

Armin screamed and fought to pull away.

Two.

Tears streamed down his cheeks and he struggled to breathe through the pain and the Commander's crushing lips.

Three.

Armin was losing consciousness. Blood coated the Commander's hand.

Four.

Armin let out a final, desperate cry before he went limp. His torturer wiped his fingers off and left him there. He locked the door on his way out. Couldn't risk anyone finding his prey or having the traumatized child escape before he was finished with him.


	6. Somewhere Cold and Dark

Armin woke up somewhere cold. It was dark, and he was tied to a bed-well, a mattress on a bed frame, no blankets or pillows or anything remotely resembling what little comfort a bed should have been. He was also gagged.

And he was naked.

Naked.

Bruised.

Bloodstained.

Alone.

He tried to make a noise through the gag. A muffled sob that echoed quietly in the darkness. Was he in a dungeon then? A basement?

How long had he been here?

The pain hit him then.

Searing.

Burning.

Lower than his stomach, but shooting all the way to his heart. His head ached. His sides ached. His heart pounded in his ears. His body spasmed with each jolt of agony, strangled gasps and cries muted in his throat.

Why couldn't he just die?

He'd thought he was dead. He did not see, he did not hear, he, mercifully, did not feel anymore. There was nothing. _He_ was nothing. Everything had gone dark, and he'd wished for it to stay that way.

Yet here he was.

Back in this hell that offered nothing but anguish.

Blood.

Pain.

Fear.

Commander.

Had he been left here to die, then, or would there be more torture? Was the Commander going… to come back for him? Surely he would be dead by then, or another round would kill him. Armin let himself cry.

Scream. No one can hear you.

Struggle. You can't break free.

Sob. Nobody cares.

He could feel the blood pooled under him, staining the mattress. He could hear the creak of the bed frame as he writhed and struggled to break free. He shivered violently with the cold, wondering how much longer it would be before his body gave up.

Footsteps. One pair. One person.

Commander.

The sounds of keys and locks and hinges. _Slam_. Repeat.

A single candle illuminating the last face Armin wanted to see. To think he'd looked up to this man. To think he'd admired him, admired his brilliance and ability to surrender his humanity to fight monsters.

In the end, it was the Commander who was the monster.

Titans didn't intend to cause pain, only to eat.

The Commander thrived on it.

He approached the bed, grinned as he moved the candlelight over Armin's body, trailed a hand up a bruised thigh.

Armin struggled. Violently. Muted screams and cries and shedding tears in desperate hope of dying of dehydration and exhaustion before the abuse resumed.

The Commander's hand stopped at a bruise-blackened hip and squeezed until the pain was too great and Armin's body froze.

 _Be a good boy for me now. You wouldn't want Eren getting hurt, would you? No, no, I don't think so._

Armin went limp, turning his face away to hide his broken blue eyes from the Commander's icy ones. He mumbled things into the gag, pleas and questions that he knew no one would ever hear.

 _Just let me die._


	7. Caught

Levi finds Armin one night, after the Commander's finished with him.

He'd literally been kicked from the bed, toward the shredded mess of clothes on the floor, dismissed and forgotten.

Armin dressed himself as best he could and ran.

It hadn't taken long for the adrenaline to wear off as he dragged himself to a bathroom far from anyone's sleeping quarters. He barely managed to lock the door before crumpling to the floor, broken sobs leaking past his lips.

He can feel the blood seeping through the tattered remains of his trousers and onto the floor. He feels dirty, so dirty, and he knows he needs to clean up, but it's so hard to move right now.

Armin shifts, attempting to drag himself toward where he knows soap and rags are stored, and the scream slips out before he can stop it.

He drops back to the floor, twitching in pain, hands clasped over his mouth. Hoping nobody heard.

Deep breaths, and Armin lets himself lose consciousness.

* * *

Levi was walking alone when he heard the scream. It was short, horribly strangled and quickly cut off, but it was close. Levi ran toward the sound, the part of his mind that never left the streets taking over.

The door to a seldom-used bathroom that had been open before was closed now. Levi tried the handle. Locked.

"Hello? Open up!" He banged on the door. No response. Levi kicked the door open.

" _Shit,_ " was the only response he could come up with for what greeted him. A tiny, bleeding body in a ruined uniform. He slid silently to his knees, gently rolling the terribly still form and brushing the hair from their face.

Levi forced down the bile rising in his throat. This was one of the new recruits, The Brat's little bookworm friend... _Arlert?_ He was so small, so young, and Levi could…

Levi could _smell_ what had happened to him.

The boy whimpered when Levi removed what remained of his clothes, but resumed his limp, lifeless state as Levi donned a pair of gloves and began to scrub away all of the... bodily fluids.

There were no spare uniforms in the bathroom, so Levi wrapped Armin in fresh towels and carried him… where?

Clearly, he'd been attacked. Several times. He couldn't leave him alone, and he couldn't trust anyone else.

Silently and quickly as possible, Levi carried his now shaking bundle through the hallways to his own quarters. It shouldn't have been so easy. The kid must have been as tall as him, if not taller, but he was far too light.

He laid the boy on the bed so he could fetch him fresh clothes, and Armin snapped back to life.

He flailed, scrambling to roll off the bed.

"No! Nononono, please-"

Levi caught his shoulders and tried to get him to lie down.

"It's okay, you're safe-"

"No, please, please, not again, no more, Commander, _please!_ "

Levi releases him, falling back against the wall. Armin's still crying, but Levi can't hear anything over the ringing in his ears.

Commander.

There's only one person that could be.

* * *

Armin wakes up in a bed. It's not his bed.

It's not the Commander's, either.

He's wearing clothes that aren't his, and Levi's there. He looks exhausted, and Armin knows he can't be looking any better. But Levi's being nice, trying to get him to eat and telling him to rest. He's promising not to tell anyone he's here.

He knows.

And then Armin's crying again, crying and scared and lost because he knows _he knows_ _ **he KNOWS**_ -

He knows, and he's not hurting him. He's not dragging him back to the Commander. He's not trying to break him, too.

Levi's still there when Armin calms down, and there's a fire in his normally dull grey eyes.

"I'm not letting him hurt you again."

"Wha-what are you going to do?"

"Well, for starters, you're joining my squad." He places his hands gently on Armin's shoulders as he meets his stare, blue eyes wide.

"You brats are all coming with me."


	8. You trusted him

You trusted him.

You really did.

You fell for the charms, listened to whatever he told you and believed it. You followed him, followed his orders, never questioning. Mistaking what he showed you for who he really was.

He became a colleague, a _friend_ , this man you were sent to kill.

Looking at the bright cadet who longed for nothing but oceans and adventures- reduced to a sobbing, broken ball- you wish you had.

A part of you doesn't want to believe it, wants to shove it down and never address it. But the evidence if right in front of you. It's all a mess, and you _hate messes._

Why is the world not shattering around you? How are the walls not falling down? What do you plan to find as you stand there numbly? Sorting through every word you ever heard him speak, every moment, every motion, wondering how you missed it.

How someone who spent their life dealing with one monster after another could miss one right in front of their eyes.

What are you supposed to do now?

Burn everything he ever gave you? Forget everything you learned because of him? You can't kill him, not now, not here. But you have to do something. Fight him, hurt him, anything, anything's better than just standing there like an idiot, wondering how you got it so wrong.

What now?

Where does it stop? What can you do?

The world's a fucking mess, but you know where to start.

You start by saving the shaking boy before you, with pain and fear in his eyes.

You start by making sure it never happens again.


End file.
